As I packed the last of my gear into the trunk of my 2013 Malibu on a Friday the 13th with a full moon, it occurred to me that I really need a vehicle better suited toward hunting and fishing, something like the 1990 Toyota Land Cruiser I had passed up in the spring. A full 20 minutes had passed since I last looked at the NOAH weather app on my phone, perhaps they had changed their minds and the rain would stop before I arrived at camp in 2 ½ hours; just as I susphere it is almost 8ected…cloudy with a 50% chance of showers ending around midnight. On the bright side, tomorrow dropped to 30% chance of showers, windy, gusts to 23 MPH, perfect for making a precision casting with a fly rod. Two hours later, about 30 minutes behind schedule and at least 20 miles past the nearest town, that would have a place to buy one, it occurred to me that my rain gear was hanging neatly in my closet at home. Fortunately, the tiny town of Charlemont had enough farmers around to support a local Agway store. A quick U-turn, legally of course, right after the no U-turn sign.
Panic set in as I merge of the
shoulder and back into traffic with success…looking directly at one of Massachusetts’
finest in the now, oncoming lane. I
found myself praising the sudden down pour of rain that I had been cursing
minutes earlier. The state trooper sent me a glaring look that would rival that
of my grandmothers when she first witnessed me placing a pinch of Copenhagen in
my bottom lip and continued on his way. Apparently,
an illegal U-turn in light traffic is not worthy of causing the trooper to soil
his highly polished Calvary boots. Thank
you God almighty.
After a 10-minute pit stop at Agway, I
was back on the road and of course, the rain had let up and the sky was getting
brighter, then ten minutes later the rain was falling moderately hard again, as
it had all morning. I pulled into the
Mohawk Campground, trudged through the muddy parking lot and stepped inside
where I was greeted with all seven patrons looking to see who was coming in; one
even gave me a cheekish smile revealing the few remaining brown teeth... Arthur
"Guitar Boogie" Smith’s “Dueling Banjos” playing in my head. After a short talk with the man behind the
bar, I learned that I was at the wrong place; Mohawk National Forest
Campground was still a few miles away.
With a better idea of where our trout
Unlimited group was camping, I was headed back a few miles to a rest area that
had some promising looking water and ignored the fact that thousands before me have
probably had the same thought. Pulling into
the parking area, I spotted a grey Land Cruiser with New Hampshire license
plates…that has to be someone from our group.
No more than I had finished getting my gear on and rigging up my 9’0”, 5
weight Temple Fork rod with sink tip line a drift boat made its way to shore
with three soaking wet men on board. Ed
and Dick had been floating the river for the past four hours with no
success. Although, I had been to a
presentation this guide had given about Deerfield River where he told us he
would refund 50% of your cost if no fish where caught, full price was paid,
plus tip. Needless to say, Mr. Henault
and Mr. Bickford were not pleased.
Despite the rain, I continued to fish
for a few hours in the miserable weather without the slightest of strikes then
headed to camp where I was greeted with the snoring of five fellow TU
members. An hour later and the younger
guys were headed back to the “top,” better known as Fife Brook damn and found
themselves in the middle of a Hex hatch, Hexagenia limbata for the nerds out
there, no offense intended – I say nerd, only because I can never remember the real
names. Hearing this news when they
arrived back at camp, well after dark, made me wish I had sucked it up and went
with them.
Lou provided us with a tasty, steak
tip dinner as we sat around swapping stories about the day and past trips taken
throughout North and South America. After dinner I supplied the Scotch [Glenlivet
18 year old] and cigars [La Flor de Gloria] and more stories were shared on
topics ranging from teaching the wife to fly fish to who had the best
garden. My favorite was, “my wife and I
have an agreement, she doesn’t have to go fishing and I don’t need to attend
the ballet.” With eight of us ranging
from in age from mid-30’s to 80+ telling stories, there was no want for
entertainment.
The dilemma, eight men, four beds and
me without a mat to place my sleeping bag on.
I opted for my car with the front seat laid back, which learned in the
morning, had been the best sleeping arrangement in the cabin. According to those under 45, “old men snore
horribly.” Some had even considered
refunding me half the price of the cabin for sleeping in the car while others
thought I should be charged extra for getting a full 6 hours of sleep. [TO BE CONTINUED]…
Hereit is, nearly a full year later I sit at home on my couch, feeling loopy from the painkillers that were given to me following my spine surgeries. apparently sleeping in my car that night was not a good idea. I ended up with a herniated disc in my lower back and nearly a full summer without fishing or at least being in pain while I was out there on the wate. TThankfully the New Hampshire neuro Spine Center found the herniated disc after several months of pain and performed surgery. now I am 3 weeks post op and looking forward to this year's spring trip.
